Once the Ice of Winter
by KoiNoSeason
Summary: A one sided JirouxAtobe. Falling in love with someone who is so out of reach could happen to anyone. But it's never easy to know that someone is with someone else. And to start wishing, like in that dream, if time could have stayed still.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: And yet again, I must remind everyone I don't own Prince of Tennis.

AN: Hi! Yup, I know I have a lot of promised things I need to get to, but something really inspired me to write this. It's a one-sided JirouxAtobe, poor Jirou. [sob] Only warning is perhaps the shounen-ai. If you're okay with that [and what PoT fan isn't used to it?] then I hope you enjoy the story.

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Why always in the painted snow, do they portray a sense of fluffiness, so unwrinkled and perfect as if they haven't been tainted by the reality of the world? The light blue shadow that befalls them elegantly accented their pure white as if the feathers of doves would turn a dull gray in comparison. If snow was really that kind of beauty as it fell in the real world, how wondrous it would be. He knew such wasn't always the case. Yet, there was a time when he really felt he could understand the dreams of those painters.

It was almost Spring, and the weather a nice temperature. The railings of the road leading to the sea were broken in the middle leading to an ominous forest and a faded yellow signpost was laying limply over ferns that grew wildly around it almost keeping it out of sight. At the curve where the forest ended and descended downward, there was a slope on the road leading the opposite direction. If anyone were to follow it, they would reach a beautiful clearing with below the calm waves of the ocean tracing finger light prints on the clay like sand and above the shining sun enveloped in cloudless blue. It was impossible to believe it had anything to do with the forest that surrounded it. The chilling breeze had turned lukewarm over time and only annoying when it swept hair into eyes. The ice was melting, and it left damp green grass growing on patches of soft dirt. The dew left moist marks on the stump and moss grew fearlessly on the edges and all the way down on the bark, but someone sat there, looking at the half frozen lake with curious eyes.

The boy's tanned face was caressed with curls of gold, untamed only because it would have it no other way. The wind could not reach him there, as he sat resting, with a blank stare of concentration. He could be described as fairylike, if anyone were to see him from afar, but also in the same sense it felt like he would just vanish if someone were to impose.

Dark, round eyes saw past the lake with its water rippling across the surface and instead saw the winter sky, back when a thin layer of ice glazed over its surface like polished crystal. The first time he visited, he was not alone. The smooth liquid swirled and shone, like a kindergarten project where a child spilled silver glitter from the shared table. There, he could recall and sink into the memory of the past…

"Jirou."

"Heh heh, what is it Atobe?" He poked and prodded the lake with the end of a tree branch. Wrapped up in a bundle of blue, he looked one size off from a snowman, and only his childish smile brimmed from the surface of his knitted scarf.

"We should be heading back," the male, who stood with his back against the trunk of a tree, couldn't be shimmering less then the frozen lake. His arms were folded regally over his dark brown jacket, less bulkier then the one the blonde wore, yet, managing to make it look as gallant as a suit of armor.

Jirou pouted at his companion's words, wanting to stay a little longer to observe the ice. It was the first time since they've been in the woods that he had seen something so marvelous. The snow that built on the road and stripped the forest of their green, piled in gray blocks sometimes brown from dirt or black from the wheels on the road. Other then that, he enjoyed the other's company without the interruption of others. Although, he wouldn't dare include that in the open. Thus, he complied, following Atobe out of the clearing, and hiking back to the main road.

When they reached the end, half the third years had already returned, discussing ideas or chattering near the bus. A part of the tennis group came to greet them joyously including a long haired, somewhat tall male with round glasses and a shorter, red haired boy. Also some of the girls that had been preoccupied before now glanced their way, some even trying to approach. Jirou smiled, but behind it, he felt annoyance. No matter where they were, people never left Atobe alone, but also at the time he felt security in that. He would belong to no one…

"Did you decide what to draw yet?" The red haired one jumped at least three feet in the air before landing on his feet in front of the two. It was a wonder how he managed his balance over the ice. Then he twisted his body to the side and looked up at both of them before muttering. "Honestly, you better have. It took me and Yuushi all we had to mislead the girls away from your path."

Oshitari Yuushi chuckled walking toward them carefully on the slippery path. "If only Kabaji was here. Oh, why do we have to have an art session mid-winter?" He rubbed his gloved hands together. Honestly, no one understood that kind of schedule since it was cold enough that your fingers could freeze onto the writing utensils. Jirou just laughed, and Atobe shook his head no. They weren't able to find a suitable place, at least not in his standards. The blonde rubbed his cheeks before looking at him. Jirou wanted to sketch the lake, but if Atobe didn't want to, he would pick somewhere else.

"Huuuh? After all that trouble?" Gakuto joined his hands behind his head, raising his voice ending in a sigh. Oshitari started escorting him back into the bus, but the acrobat had to give them a warning. "Tomorrow's the last day, but since we're going to stay in the cabin to draw, we can't help you. Ask Shishido or something."

"Heh, it's been too long. I'm glad we can finally go home," Oshitari threw both his hands in the air in a light shrug. It had been a tiring experience for him and his partner always having to watch their tennis captain's back. Slinking back into the bus for warmth, he and Gakuto both disappeared, and soon the crowd of girls growing, as each pair came back to the meeting place, surrounded Atobe. It was inevitable but Jirou felt a sinking feeling. He wished against Oshitari that the trip wouldn't end there. That his time alone with Atobe would continue to last, and the sketch never completed. He only smiled and chased the two back into the bus energetically.

Inside the warm vehicle, Jirou curled in his seat and went to sleep. Being outside and awake quickly drained the narcoleptic's energy, and sleepy by nature, it was a wonder how he managed to keep himself awake while he explored. Of course half of it had to do with his attitude toward discovery. He was quite the optimist when it came to new and interesting things, and the other half was being with Atobe. He didn't want to waste what little time they had together while feeling sleepy. So during that time, he made sure he stayed awake, no matter how many times a yawn threatened to erupt. His eyes drooped shut, and the last thing he saw was a mob by the window, hiding his art partner from sight. That was when he decided he was glad he could fall asleep. He didn't want to see that.

In his dream, he saw the clearing. He stood wearily, half dozing off, but awakened to the brilliant night sky. The deep violet-black surface was smooth as if all the clouds that formed snow evaporated into nothingness. They were littered with pieces of light some larger then others. In the center was a golden orb, the smudges on its surface clear as letters on a book. Jirou was about to rush out from under the dead looking trees to get a better look, but a sound stopped him. Turning to look at the lake once more, he gasped.

The surface of the frozen lake was a giant mirror, reflecting the quiet forest and the lively stars above. The boy bent down and placed both his hands over the thin surface, careful to keep it from shattering, when he looked carefully, just like a real mirror, the giant ice had a silver glint, then reflected him as clear as possible. The same sound alerted him from his gaze and he looked around him, but still found nothing.

He closed his eyes, his heart beating intensely against his chest, and to calm it, he placed a hand over, telling it to stop. It wasn't fright, it was something else. He knew the sound…

A clear note rang, as if something no bigger then a pinecone struck glass, but with great force. His eyes snapped open, and frantically searched. It was a sound of a tennis ball, but he didn't know where it came from. Then he realized he was standing on top of the lake's mirror like surface. It was dangerous to be standing on something so thin. The blonde sighed and started to leave. It was then that he realized something wasn't how it seemed. His body froze midway while turning, but his brown optics remained glued to the scene. There, not on the surface, but on the reflection, was a figure he recognized so well. Or was he the one trapped in the reflection? He couldn't be certain. Slowly, and very carefully sliding himself closer to the image, he sighed.

Atobe's form was magnificent as he practiced on the court of ice, shattering the surface it hit with certainty and determination. It was his imperfection as a human being that bound him to get better and better, even on days like these where the falling snow could engulf a small figure like a human. Although his features said otherwise, Jirou knew his captain was full of flaws. One, which was inevitable being born a human, and if he wasn't, he couldn't imagine him as anything other then God himself. Therefore, he was grateful to the one that was already there. He wouldn't want Atobe to fall into a place where he couldn't reach anymore then he was already far from.

The blonde's hands were flat against the surface, his voice strained as he whispered the others name, over and over only for the night wind to hear and carry away. Grateful…? He had woken up to find the bus moving, and his companion sleeping right beside him. He blinked, staring at the same dignified features with sadness. Even when they were so close, there was nothing he could do. That was what his dream was telling him, he believed. He could only watch and admire from some distance away, maybe not physically, but it was far away.

And even in his dream, the male was playing tennis. He gripped his hands tightly inside their gloves. Would he belong to no one, and end up leaving his heart only to the game? Maybe…it was more comfortable to think that way. That Atobe loved tennis more then anyone.

That night after dinner, Shishido and Taki joined the group of four as they played cards. They had decided to sketch the view from the cabin window; there wasn't much to see, but it would keep them warm. The six seniors of the regular team played mock poker until late into the evening when they had to return to their rooms. Although usually when they had school trips, Atobe would not share a room, this time around he filed no complaint to having Jirou around. It was perhaps because the curly haired blonde wouldn't disturb the other and just fall asleep instantaneously.

Surprisingly, as they both entered the large and well lit cabin room that night, Jirou wasn't tired. As Atobe went ahead to sit at the far end of the decorated room at a fine wooden desk, he could only stare blankly. Maybe it was his lack of observation during the past week they had been staying there, but it seemed unusually large. It was no surprise there; he would only come back here to fall asleep as soon as he hit the surface of the bed. Now, as his eyes opened to the scene, he felt cold despite the warmth of the heater.

The room was brightly lit from the yellow tinted chandelier at the center of the tall ceiling. The ceiling itself was flat, but the marble making up its surface was painted with white and gold clouds with a baby angel climbing to the robin egg colored heavens where the chandelier protruded from. The painting gave a feel that the surface could be slanted or domed, if they were not told beforehand how it was. The room itself was formatted in an L shape with the two beds to the right if you go straight from the door. The unnecessarily spacious living room had a two step decline towards a grand carpet of dark red with gold designs spread out neatly on the ground with a white leather sofa against the wall. There was a small painting hanging next to the wide screen TV neither of them used during their stay. To prove that fact, the remote rested on the shelf that hung underneath the painting. A glass coffee table stood between the sofa and TV, but even then it was easy to walk through. Then it inclined two steps upward again to where Atobe was sitting in a white chair writing something over a large desk. The edge of the table were fitted on the walls where it curved from the corner and was at least three yards long before the round end finished off and one lean black poll supported its weight.

There was a door between the small fleet of steps and the sofa that was painted gold and had an unrecognizable rune scribed on its surface. It lead to a large and rather clean bathroom that completed the square of their large room. The tiles in the bathroom were checkered and its layout seemed to be so well thought out. It even held a roomy shower stall and the bathtub was more like a mini-swimming pool made of stairs all the way to the far corner.

Honestly Jirou was very much surprised that a school trip offered something like this, and it was probably because he was with Atobe. The silver haired male seemed to be used to no less. As he pondered upon that now, he heard his name called by the said person from the other side of the room. He turned to face a look of concern as he stood uselessly near the entrance. Sheepishly, he walked to the right, out of sight of the regal male and plopped himself down on his bed. There he pretended to sleep until his partner had turned off the lights and fell asleep.

In the darkness, his golden locks were a dark brown to the keen eye. He got out of his bed, sitting on the edge as he watched the other that slept soundly without moving an inch. He got up slowly, but it wouldn't have mattered. The beds were soft and it didn't even creak as the foam like mattress rose back up. He shouldn't…he shouldn't… echoes wavered in his mind and vanished as his trembling hand brushed a silver lock. As he thought, it didn't feel right in his hands, and his fingers burned from heat. Although he wasn't supposed to touch the other, he was slowly descending towards the other male until their faces were level.

"…G…gomen ne," he whispered before their lips met briefly.

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AN: Otsukaresama, to those who read this far. Please excuse my fantasy of where the Hyouteis stay. =D Ehmm, some reason, I seem to cliff hanger things in kisses. ; [Refering to Misunderstood] If you've got the time, please give me a review. Constructive critisicm is much appreciated along with words of support. Flames will be considered, but please don't expect me to be persuaded to do something.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thank you for waiting so long, but here's the continuation to chapter one. Especially to Charmine-san, thank you very much for reading.

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A hard wind pressed against his cold cheeks as he adjusted the scarf tighter around his neck and pulled it up to cover his mouth. Ever since morning, Jirou hadn't spoken a word whether it was to his roommate or to anyone else. They believed he was still drowsy, as he always was, and unable to explain as he yawned to deceive them into their suspicions. Yet, it wasn't the case at all. He had hardly slept; that much was true, but he wouldn't have been able to even now. He ruffled his messy blonde hair as snow built upon it, hiding his face further into the massive curls. How could he face Atobe now? The silver haired male walked a few feet ahead on the trail, looking straight ahead in a rather stiff manner. They were descending the road that lead them to the ocean, at least a half a mile long. While they were able to observe the unnerving waves from beyond the rails, Jirou understood the beauty the other found in it.

Stepping over the dark dirt filled mounds of ice, they found a small clearing on the center of the stone steps as they were not able to get any closer to the fierce waves. The bed of sand looked glazed as if ice spun over them, but it was only a moment before the large waves clashed upon them that they realized it was only smooth because the receding water made them so. It was that moment that Jirou realized how sand could ever turn into glass. What was more astonishing was the snow, falling from the billowing cotton candy clouds, attacking the sea with little force as they fall, engulfed into the mouths of the hungry ripples. The sight was so melancholy that an urge sprung inside the boy to go and capture the falling crystals in his hands, but he didn't dare do so. Instead, he watched, as they fearlessly descended, adding to the great waves.

"Jirou," the voice roused him from his daydreams, and he met Atobe's eyes after what seemed like forever, then he looked back at the wave quickly trying not to seem rude and pretended he was enjoying the scene with enthusiasm.

"Wah, don't you think this is a great place? It's really awesome! I would swim if I could, but I'd probably freeze if I did that. Hey-" he grinned the best he could. "Are we going to draw this?"

The heavy gaze of his partner's dark blue eyes wavered over not the scene, but at Jirou, and the blonde shuddered involuntarily, letting his fake smile fall into a rather blank look. He felt like Atobe was looking right through him, and could tell. He spoke with authority in his voice as if he demanded to know, but not too unkindly, "What's the problem?"

Jirou was quickly backed into a corner. He could not deny it, for it was plain as day, and even if he had tried to, it wouldn't resolve the other's curiosity. The blonde didn't like to make the other upset, although the other way around, he wasn't too sure. He only knew it wasn't intentional. He sighed, wrapping his arm around his thickly bundled self, and letting his gaze wander from the waves to the sand and then to the hand rails. Anything…anything for an answer.

"There's a lot," he answered, trying to be truthful as possible without giving any implications about who he was talking about…or exactly what, "that is bothering me."

Atobe nodded for him to continue, and Jirou sighed once more.

"Well, I've fallen in love with a good friend, someone who is barely within my reach. What's worse is that I've done something to offend this person without them knowing. That friend is also…um," he cast his eyes to the side blushing lightly, hoping Atobe didn't notice. If he had, he didn't show any sign that he did. "Is a male. And I just don't know what to do anymore."

It wasn't natural. To like someone who was the same gender? Before Atobe, he would never have thought about it. He could have kept it to himself if none of his feelings were going to be returned. He knew that yet, he found himself being able to easily confide in the person who had the right to hate him if he had known the truth. The captain watched over him with a steady gaze, arms folded tightly as if thinking things over. He didn't seem surprised, though, he could easily hide what he felt with his calm demeanor. The blonde only watched wearily, hoping that the other didn't figure him out. Not yet. He took a deep breath, and tried to hold the gaze Atobe gave him to no avail. Not only had he violated the other's space, he had no clue. He watched the ground somberly wondering if he would ever be forgiven, and if he was, would he be able to forgive himself?

It was a long minute, that felt like hours, before the silver haired male spoke, and he did it so casually as if he was tackling on a problem in math, "Just tell him. Nothing will start if you keep it to yourself. It doesn't matter what gender, since you like that person for who they are. If you have done something, apologize. If they back away, it means they didn't understand you to begin with. Perhaps it's because I prefer someone who is strong willed, but I don't like to see my teammates dallying in something like this."

Jirou only stared and tilted his head. There goes Atobe, straight to the point. He didn't blame him, but he also wondered. That expression as he stated it, had he faced that kind of problem before? He was uncertain and thinking about it made him uneasy. He sighed inwardly and tried to smile. "Thanks Atobe, do you still like me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" _Easy for him to say._ Jirou only grinned lightly.

-

The painting that the one who was called King of Hyoutei truly let the artist live up to his name. The still painting cast an illusion of the raging waves, swallowing the flakes of the snow like nothing, only growing stronger and livelier as it crashed against the bed of rocks and swirled the sand before retreating to duplicate its act. The hall of clouds created a crack between each other to let the light of Gods pass to the realm of mortals creating an amazing glow in the world of gray-blue. It diminished the other student's paintings greatly, and Atobe chuckled when Gakuto grunted about hating art.

Jirou hadn't shown anyone his sketch. He had been mindlessly reenacting the scene from his dreams onto the white canvas creating the pure lake from only his memory. Something always seemed to be missing as he dragged his eraser many times over on the worn surface. Finally satisfied, he started to add color, but to his dismay, none of the blue would match the lake. He smudged white over after it dried once and painted violet, then black. A deep, dark violet-black stretched across, engulfing the canvas. It was beautiful, but something wasn't right.

The blonde was reluctant to turn in his artwork, but he did so like everyone else to their designated art teachers who had done nothing but tell them of angles and places to draw. He felt a sense of loss when the uneven paper slipped out of his hands into the basket and watched blankly out the window after he was able to sit down. He fell asleep mid class.

It wasn't the bell at the end of class, but the teacher's exasperated voice that woke him up. Jirou grinned up charmingly from his arms. "Hey, sensei. Is class over?" He yawned much to the teacher's disapproval.

"Akutagawa-kun!" The older lady sounded surprised. She was a young teacher with chestnut hair in a bun and looked rather nice despite her pointed red lens. "I hoped you would pay attention today… uh, but I don't have time to scold you right now. You should leave when you're packed up."

The blonde only nodded as he stretched his arms in his seat while she left the room. The art basket caught his attention. He frowned mildly and walked over racking through the canvases. The art he departed with easily found his hands as he pulled it back out. Looking at both sides, he returned to his desk to examine it. It was incomplete, he grimaced, and he understood what was missing. Slipping his artwork into his backpack, he turned to leave…

"Akutagawa-sempai."

The narcoleptic's heart almost froze as he spun around to face a familiar second year. Bowl cut chestnut colored hair fell over his eyes, and narrow, knowing eyes bore through him like an arrow. He gulped. "Hiyoshi?"

"Coach told me to go look for you," he quickly entered the room and leaned against the window. "Please don't take too long. I have a few people to Gekokujou."

"Ah…of course," Jirou laughed nervously, wondering how Hiyoshi could stay so calm all the time. He tried to hide the canvas in his bag, but it was too bulky. The two stared at it for a minute. "This is…um…"

"It's none of my business," The mushroom haired youth left the window and began to walk across the room as if waiting for the other to hurry up. Jirou gazed at him in wonder. Was he actually helping him? Or did he really not care. Either way, it didn't seem like Hiyoshi didn't plan on using this to threaten him or anything like that. He smiled inwardly. The second year was actually a nice guy.

Daring to speak again, the boy used a cheerier voice then he first intended. "What are we doing today?"

"How would I know, if Atobe-san would do his job properly and go fetch you himself…" he mumbled with obvious distaste. "I'm going to gekokujou him soon so something like this wouldn't happen…"

"Oh good! Let's go ask him together then."

"No- what, why…"

The younger boy was dragged down the hallway and its stairs all the way to the other side of the school where the clubroom stood, shining, proud, and tall. Already, the other members were practicing in and around the courts, hitting targets or rallying. Anyone could seek out the captain with a swift look around the field and it was apparent he was nowhere in sight. "That's funny, I wonder where he is," he said to an annoyed Hiyoshi before they filed into the locker room to change. They exchanged a dull conversation, the chestnut haired youth sounding annoyed and only replying to Jirou's enthusiastic voice in one or two words.

They stopped mid sentence when someone suddenly burst through the door, and seeing it as their captain, Jirou instinctively hid, and pulled Hiyoshi with him in the process. The younger was about to protest, but he held his finger to his lips, eyes wide and afraid, and it silenced the other male though hesitantly. He looked at his blonde sempai with questioning eyes, lacing his shoes behind the locker as quietly as possible.

"Are you well?" Jirou leaned against the locker only enough so it wouldn't creak. Atobe seemed to be talking on the phone, and it seemed like to someone important. He never heard the silver haired male sound so concerned. "When is that? …Ah I see."

Fear seemed to creep into the curly haired blonde's heart, worming its way around the surface and digging deep to the core. He realized that tone for what it was, because he often had experience using it. It was one of longing and adoration. Something those who didn't know it couldn't recognize. Who was Atobe talking to?

"What?" a flustered voice resounded the locker room, and the silver haired male drew in breath before answering with a hint of embarrassment. "Wh-whatever. Take care of your shoulder." And the conversation ended.

_Tezuka…_ Jirou shivered. _He was talking to_ _Tezuka._

The frustrated look on the blonde's face surprised Hiyoshi into complete silence as he started to understand the situation. Then he frowned too, and stood up almost about to comfort the other when Jirou sank back too deep and the locker's awful screech filled the room for one long second.

"Who's there?" Atobe's footsteps crept closer.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thank you again to those who have read. I apologize for not updating sooner, and please enjoy if you've got the time.

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Rusty, rusty metal. Screech, and then silence. Still air, no breathing. Then-

"Who's there?" It was Atobe that spoke, the sound of his cell phone flipping back in one clump. He crept closer, and Jirou's heart pounded. Loud. Against his chest, then in his ears. He wanted nothing more then to be out of there, looking like a mess as he imagined himself, all red and eyes puffy as if he had just woken up, or carrying tears that stung at his eyes begging to get out like now. He didn't move, trying to figure out what to say if Atobe saw him, try to talk his way out…tell him he was sleeping, yeah.

Except Atobe never reached him. Hiyoshi pushed passed without a second glance and did something nice, at least for Jirou, the second time that day. Probably without even meaning to.

"Atobe-san, don't tell me you were missing because you had something important to do," Hiyoshi made a point to make the word important extra sarcastic as he talked and lured with words, only, Jirou didn't know if he did that on purpose because he was standing there looking miserable, or it was just how Hiyoshi was. Quick, to the point, and very, very insulting.

Still it helped. Taking the bait, their captain cursed before heading out the same door right after the cinnamon haired junior. The blonde just stood there before the echo of the slammed door quieted down, then he pulled himself over the sofa that lined the side of the walls, yes sofa the one that Hyoutei made sure they had in their locker rooms, and went to sleep.

He remembered that the surface of the sofa was soft against his cheek even if he couldn't remember what color it was. Maybe red, no purple…or orange, with black polka dots, like leopard. He wasn't sure, but it comforted him, and it didn't even matter that it smelled like flowers. That was comforting too, and at the same time nostalgic and also made him sad somewhere in the heart. Still comforting. He could remember what flower it was. Roses.

When he woke up, the sky was wine red, a thin purple-black stretching over the other side of the sky he couldn't see through the window. Yawning and knowing it had to be late at least five or six, he knew he missed practice. Not like anyone cared or asked about it. He always missed practice and if he attended it was those rare days only once or twice a month. Except today was supposed to be that rare day and he didn't know why he slept through practice. Then he remembered and along with remembering came a headache. He tried to remember what he dreamed about, but it was all jumbled up with tears and headaches. Tears, he couldn't be sure that Atobe liked someone, maybe he just imagined it, maybe he should ask just to make sure. More tears.

Tugging his yellow hair limply, he wondered if he was overreacting while trying to calm himself down. It was just a heartbreak. It happened to everyone. Okay, almost everyone. He couldn't imagine Atobe as frustrated as he was if he couldn't get someone. He was perfect, or the closest. He had to be, and he liked Tezuka. He chewed his lower lip and squinted at the room. Everything was wet and blurry, or so his eyes perceived.

Then out of the corner of his eye, he noticed he missed a detail. He growled under his breath. That was his mistake. Even if practice ended, no one really left him all alone in the locker room to sleep until the next day. Someone was always there to wake him up. Today it just happened to be the cocky junior, the one that always gave headaches. Surprisingly, not today, at least not to Jirou. When Hiyoshi noticed that the blonde was awake, he just sat across the room looking tired and very blank.

Only a few sniffles were heard and Jirou guessed that their captain made Hiyoshi run a few more laps then the rest of the team. The thought seemed to amuse him a little, but not too much. He could remember he was still crying and in front of his very blank looking junior.

A few minutes later in the silence-except-a-few-sniffles Jirou got himself to calm down and plastered a very fake smile on his face as he wiped the last of his tears on his sleeve and started to stand up.

"Let's go home."

Jirou wanted to say that, except it didn't come out of him. It came from the mouths of a very un-Hiyoshilike Hiyoshi. It also didn't sound harsh or raspy like he always talked. It just sounded tired and maybe a little bit shocked like he didn't think Jirou was very Jiroulike either. Nothing was making sense at that point so the blonde only nodded and went to get his bag while the other did the same, except with his own bag.

Then he remembered that inside his bag was the dream he had in what seemed like a long time ago. The canvas seemed heavier then it was earlier that day, as if something more then paint weighed it down, but he didn't complain. Jirou remained silent with that fake smile stretched across his face and red puffy eyes. Hiyoshi didn't say anything either, he just lead the way out the door into what would have been a rich, beautiful twilight. Where was the cold snow when he needed it?

They steered themselves from the back gate of the school. It was much closer then having to go all the way around to the front of the giant school and heading outside from there. Being with someone in a messy state like this usually didn't make Jirou feel better, only awkward, but with Hiyoshi it was a good kind of awkward. At least the younger one didn't ask questions, assumed he knew like he would since he was all cocky, but Jirou was glad for that attitude. He didn't want questions and he didn't want someone talking about how it would be all right. It was all right, just not _alright_. He didn't care, no one cared. No one, no one…

Except that wasn't true.

By the time they were crossing the park, Hiyoshi stopped at the wind swept road, nothing but melting ice lining the glistening glass on either side of the dirt pathway. The trees had no leaves but it was damp and dripping, and he tried to steer Jirou in the other direction a fraction of a second too late.

Hiyoshi must have noticed only a second before Jirou did, because he wouldn't intentionally lead him that way. Even though he was all arrogant and gekokujou and mushroom and all that, he cared. To prove it, a look of concern stretched over his usually blank or sneering face and made a foreign impression. Then it turned hard and when Jirou didn't move, he forcefully lead him out of that path to take a large detour.

You couldn't miss it even if you wanted to, and not from a mile away. Atobe had silver hair, one that glistened even in the dark starry light offered only from way above and it glistened in a way that knocked your breath out of your lungs. The same way it did in the dream, when he played tennis on the other side of those glass like ice, stretched thin over the surface and not even cracking when the ball struck against the surface. Only made a bell like sound, something so beautiful and hypnotic. He had enough information to know that the brunette guy, standing a little taller then Atobe was Tezuka. Tezuka from Seigaku.

"Akutagawa-sempai," They were walking away and the park was already out of sight. They crossed a street full of people, but no one looked, because Hiyoshi let Jirou walk behind him and close enough so if the blonde looked down no one could see his face. Soon the people seemed to melt away from the crosswalk and they were alone again. Hiyoshi's voice sounded so foreign now, Jirou didn't know how to respond, he only looked up. His eyes met the other's cold dark ones, for he was looking back at his upperclassman now and frowning. The blonde couldn't tell if the younger one was mad at him or not. What was he going to ask? What did he want to say? The look was killing him, and he was ready to answer anything, like if he liked Atobe, yes he did. Surely Hiyoshi would have figured that out by now. Except- "Do you want to come over to my place?"

Jirou blinked. He wasn't expecting that, and these events when the sand haired junior was continuously being nice sort of creeped him out. Not in a bad way, but it was just awkward. Then he understood what he was getting at. No one knew him at Hiyoshi's house, but everyone knew him at his own house. Everyone who could ask questions, those that he didn't need. Everyone who could try and comfort him, words that he rather not hear. Jirou nodded to a blank looking Hiyoshi. If people at the junior's house had personality like the boy standing in front of him, he would not get question or words of comfort. He sort of liked that idea now.

-

Hiyoshi's house was roomy. It even had cold air in some of the rooms like no one existed there, except nothing was dusty so that couldn't be true. It was built in traditional Japanese style. Those extra rooms that were hardly used could have staked up all on a second floor, except it was needlessly stretched out from corner to corner in a single floor. The garden was the one thing that looked effortlessly beautiful and not like a pinched kind of beautiful like the wooden house was, but genuinely beautiful. Swirled tiny gravel lined the floor and bamboo stacked itself into a polished fence. That wasn't the end to the beautiful, because it defied season and pale pink flowers bloomed on dark branches, ones that looked damp, but at the same time weren't because they were that dark.

On the other corner where the wooden planks didn't protrude into the garden, was a fine pond, except the water froze over the surface and the cut bamboo that clanked against the frozen surface was also half frozen into the same water. It shimmered. It was like a dream. His dream.

Jirou watched this all from the sliding doors that opened to the wooden planks, where he sat lifelessly on a blue cushion from his assigned room. It was probably a guest room since there wasn't anything in it except a table and blue cushions. Inside the closet were futons, but one was already laid out neatly beside the table for him. No one asked him anything yet, and he began to wonder if there was anyone living here except for Hiyoshi. That thought sort of brought a smile to his face, but he didn't laugh. He choked.

Then he cried. He choked over tears and didn't make a lot of sound, but enough for someone on the other side of the door to hear. The one that lead to the hallway instead of the beautiful, beautiful garden. He sobbed, and Hiyoshi heard, as he stood with a cup of tea growing colder and colder, but just letting it do that as he listened.

A sad smile crossed the cinnamon haired male's visage. It was him and not Atobe who had heard Jirou cry. He heard it…and felt guilty, for feeling bliss in that.

* * *

AN: *Squeaks* o_o I'll try to update as soon as I can.


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